


a properly scholarly attitude

by goodmorningbeloved



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningbeloved/pseuds/goodmorningbeloved
Summary: “You’re.” Steve takes one look at him and stops after this one word—or two, technically, he’ll fight Tony to the death on that debate—because his boyfriend’s behind a pile of books with a pair of thick frames drooping low over the bridge of his nose, just at the right angle to emphasize his thick lashes and— and— Tony hasglasses?





	a properly scholarly attitude

**Author's Note:**

> -this fills the free space for my stony bingo card!! i knew i wanted to write about tony in glasses, but after a conversation with a friend who quickly took our headcanoning session from "imagine tony in glasses" to "imagine tony in glasses and steve thinking it's the hottest thing ever" everything just spiraled out of my control, and. well.
> 
> -in my mind, this takes place within the same verse as "[don't know why it took me so long to see](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699376)," but this is a pwp, you don't need to read that to understand this lol
> 
> -title is from a poem that bears absolutely no significance to this fic other than the one Appropriate line
> 
> -this is unedited and suddenly it's a little hard to edit as i roast in the pits of hell, so BYE

“You’re.” Steve takes one look at him and stops after this one word—or _two_ , technically, he’ll fight Tony to the death on that debate—because his boyfriend’s behind a pile of books with a pair of thick frames drooping low over the bridge of his nose, just at the right angle to emphasize his thick lashes and— and— Tony has _glasses_?

“I’m?” Tony says slowly, meaningfully, the way he does when he’s trying to say, _Use your words, honeybunch._

Steve sets down the bag of food, which was the the whole reason he came here in the first place, because this was the time of year when Tony took up semi-permanent residence in the library thanks to finals and Steve had peeled off his uniform and gone searching for Tony as soon as he could, wanting nothing more than to see his boyfriend. He leans over the book in Tony’s hands and kisses him.

“Hm,” Tony hums into the kiss. When Steve pulls away just enough to let him speak, he sets down the book and comments appreciatively, “That was smooth.”

“You're wearing glasses,” Steve says, finally completing the thought.

It comes out a whisper, partly because it’s the library, and partly because this is a fact that he doesn’t really want to share with the world. Tony has glasses, and he’s gorgeous. No, Tony’s always gorgeous, but this way, he just— He looks—

_Different_. Endearing. Steve wants to kiss him silly.  


Tony smiles up at him. His hair’s all mussed, and Steve imagines he’s been tugging and yanking on it as he pores over… He looks over to the pile of books. _Relativistic quantum mechanics,_ it says, and yeah, Steve feels like pulling out his own hair from the cover alone. “An astute observation,” Tony drawls, propping his cheek lazily with a hand. He’s still smiling. And still wearing glasses. 

Steve’s fingers twitch, aching for a pencil and paper. He wants to draw Tony like this, he thinks. Wearing one of his hoodies, hair falling in loose, natural waves, glasses slipping low, soft lips brushing over the head of Steve's—

Steve blinks.

“I didn’t know you needed them,” he says. “Didn’t you say you threw all of yours into a trash compactor?” Tony had explained, once, it was due to unpleasant high school memories, and that throwing them away was symbolic of him "no longer giving two fucks."

“Yeah, well.” Tony grumbles, nudging them back up his nose. He does it a little too quickly, makes it go crooked for a brief second before it slips uselessly halfway down his nose again. “I fucked up ordering my contacts, so I ran out yesterday. I’m stuck with these until the next order comes in.”

He takes them off, frowning. Steve doesn’t miss the way he fidgets. It’s one of the things Steve has come to learn about him — how he’ll cast his eyes to the side and worry his bottom lip between his teeth, obviously thinking of an excuse to get away — and Steve doesn’t understand, was Tony ashamed to be seen like this? Tony, amazing and funny and brilliant, whose eyes lit up when Steve let him run tests on his shield, who Steve  _loved_ with an unwavering certainty?

“Thanks for bringing me food,” Tony says, finally meeting his eyes again. “You’re the best. I’ve told you that, right? I still have to finish this paper, but if you’re free tonight—”

“I think they’re nice,” Steve says, reaching for the frames before Tony can fold them up.

“Flatterer.” Tony blushes though, looks away a little. “You can say it, you know. I look like a giant nerd.” He sighs and moves his hand under his chin this time, so he can look up at Steve expectantly, waiting for his confirmation.

Steve instead takes it as an invitation to cup the side of his face and slide the glasses back on.

“Steve.”

“I mean it. They’re nice. You’re nice. _Look_ nice, that is.” He’d have stern words and sterner fists with whoever made Tony feel like he had to hide this part of himself away.

Tony sighs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment — _how long has he been cooped up in here?_ says the rational, concerned part of his brain, while the rest of it goes, _would they flutter shut like that when he’s on his knees, welcoming the slide of Steve’s cock over his tongue—_

“I said you don’t have to…

— _brushing Tony’s soft hair away from his eyes, the glasses going askew as Steve thrusts his mouth—_

“Oh.”

Steve returns to reality with Tony’s eyes welcoming him back, pretty and brown and pensive, studying him with great interest.

“You _do_ mean it,” Tony says in wonderment. “You do like them.”

Steve hums. “You know I’m bad at lying.”

“That, you are.”

And then his hand is suddenly empty, fingers still curled in where they once rested over Tony’s cheekbone. Tony rounds the desk, steps in a little _too_ close until Steve is crowded against the edge of it.

“So it would be a bad idea for you to lie if I ask whether you’ve been thinking about _this._ ” Then Tony’s got a hand on his chest, warm and gentle in counterpoint to the deep kiss his presses into Steve’s lips.

Steve reaches up to cup the side of his face again, encouraging Tony to lean further into him as Steve swipes his tongue over his bottom lip in a silent question for permission. Tony sighs and relaxes into it, letting Steve explore and rediscover to his leisure.

“You _really_ like it,” Tony concludes when Steve parts for breath. They’re both breathing a little hard, and fuck, they really shouldn’t be doing this in the library, should they?

“They’re hot,” Steve admits, feeling his own cheeks go hot. His erection is pressing insistently against Tony’s thigh, there’s no way he can’t feel that.

“You were thinking of something. I knew that look, what was—”

“You,” he answers without hesitation. “I was thinking of you. How good you look with those on, how—” He bites his own lip hard, angling his head away from Tony’s kiss in shame. “I— Tony, you’re _tired_ , and we’re in the library—”

Tony’s hand suddenly tightens on his shirt, and he grinds against Steve, pinning him harder to the desk. Steve feels his cock too, hard and straining against his sweatpants. “Do I _feel_ tired to you, Steve?” Tony murmurs, eyes positively _dancing_. “Tell me what you were thinking of, sunshine.”

And Steve’s never been able to properly resist Tony, not really, and _especially_ not when Tony’s got a thigh trapped between his legs and rubbing torturously slow against Steve’s erection. “Thought of you wearing those glasses,” comes spilling out of his mouth as Tony leans down to start sucking along the hollow of his neck, “and you on your knees, sucking me off, how _good_ you’d look with your— f-fuck, _Tony_.”

“Don't hold back on me now.” Tony nips at his collarbone, then presses a small, wet kiss there as if in apology. “You know I like it when you talk to me.”

“Someone could see.“ Steve groans quietly, his hand tightening over Tony’s hip, torn between pushing him off and pulling him in, keeping him still while Steve ruts against him—

When Tony moves his head back, his lips are all kiss-flushed and red, and that sets something off in Steve, has him chasing after his mouth again. “Better talk quietly then,” Tony pants in between the smaller, fiercer kisses that Steve presses into him, “because if you stop now, Steve, I _swear_ —”

“ _You’re_ gonna get us caught,” Steve hisses as Tony’s hand deftly undoes his button and works the zipper loose.

“Shut me up, then,” Tony says, and then Steve’s biting back a moan as his boyfriend slides to his knees in front of him, hands freeing Steve’s cock from his jeans and underwear, his warm, warm fingers wrapping around Steve’s length in long-awaited contact, _finally_ —

“ _God,_ Tony,” Steve whispers, because Tony shouldn’t say things like that, sparking off a thousand different images in Steve’s mind that he hadn’t even _known_ he wanted—

“Is this what you had in mind, hm?” Tony, the goddamn _tease_ , moves his hand in a single slow stroke. He’s practically nuzzling against Steve’s thigh, his breath fanning warm over the side of Steve’s cock. “Wanted me on my knees, you said? What else, Steve?”

“Thought of your lips around my cock,” Steve confesses in a low rasp. He knows he ought to be watching out, making sure no one else has decided to peek into a secluded corner of the library at one in the morning, but his eyes are riveted on Tony. “Fuck,” he says in plain awe, carding a hand through Tony’s soft hair, “you’re so gorgeous, Tony.”

He’s rewarded with a blush that colors Tony’s cheeks nicely. Steve uses his leverage to tilt his head back a little, and he feels his breath hitch when Tony lets him, letting Steve see how far down his neck that brush travels.

“Gorgeous,” Steve repeats, hushed. Tony squeezes his eyes shut, the way he did in Steve’s fantasy, and if Steve wasn’t already gone before then he is now. “Gorgeous and all mine, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Tony sighs. His fingers are still wrapped loosely around Steve’s cock as he leans into Steve’s hand. “I love feeling you in my mouth,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to look up at Steve, hazy and clouded with lust as he starts stroking Steve in earnest, “I love feeling the stretch, tasting you on my tongue, love your hand in my hair pushing me down on your cock and just making me take it—”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve utters warningly.

“—you like the thought of that too, don’t you?” Tony smiles wickedly up at him, making Steve swallow hard and fight not to just thrust forward that last inch and push his cock into Tony’s tempting mouth. “You want to fuck my mouth, and God, I want it too, Steve, wanna take your cock in my mouth and let you _use_ me ’til you come down my throat—”

The slide in is slick, wet, and easy, Tony’s lips parting pliantly around the intrusion. Steve groans as he sinks into that delicious heat, pushing about half of his length in before he draws back. Tony whines, curls his fingers into Steve’s thighs in an obvious demand for more.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Steve soothes him, though he’s fighting hard to keep his word. “I know, I know,” he adds when Tony’s eyes flash, clearly wanting to object, “you like it rough. You like when it hurts a little, don’t you? Enough to make you feel it for days.”

Tony makes a soft noise around his cock. Steve guides him further down, just until there are a few inches left for him to take, then holds him there, fingers tight in his hair. “But you have a presentation due tomorrow, don’t you? Wouldn’t want you to explain— _ah_ ,” he breaks for a moment when he feels Tony slides his tongue along the underside of his length, obviously discontent with the slow pace, “—explain why you suddenly can’t speak.”

Tony groans. Steve catches a flash of movement, and he realizes that Tony’s got a hand down the front of his pants, fisting at his own cock.

Tony was getting off on this. The revelation made Steve dizzy with arousal.

“It’d be a shame if I fucked your voice out of you,” he gasps, finally loosening his grip on Tony’s hair enough for Tony to start moving, and Tony wastes no time doing so, pulling off halfway before sinking down again. “You— mmh, just like that— you know I love hearing you talk, but this— sometimes _this_ is even better, fuck, just hearing you moan around m-my cock—”

He lets Tony off for air, then pushes him back down a few seconds later. The movement tears a moan out of Tony’s mouth, and Steve cries out when he feels the sound just as he pushes in particularly deep. He keeps it steady, desperately trying to stay in control of himself but it’s so hard when Tony’s just there, on his knees and letting Steve fuck shallowly into his mouth. Tony lets him set the pace, but Steve doesn’t feel like he has any control over the situation at all, losing himself to the way Tony alternates the pressure of his mouth, tightening sweetly whenever Steve says something that must please him.

He’s not going to last. He knew this when Tony first pressed up against him, all coquettish eyes behind those glasses, and he manages to warn Tony through the litany of _fuck yes_ and _you feel amazing_ and _Tony_ that his vocabulary’s been reduced to. Tony sucks cock like he was made for it, taking him deeper and deeper until Steve feels the tip brushing the back of his throat each time.

Seconds or minutes or an eternity later, Tony pulls off with a soft gasp for air, and Steve shivers, his hips instinctively bucking forward to chase after that warmth. His cock nudges against Tony’s cheek, smearing a faint line of precome on the corner of his lips, and Steve makes a small, broken noise at the sight of him, looking absolutely wrecked, and Steve suddenly thinks of Tony bent over the desk, one leg thrown over and held down against wood as Steve fucks into him until he _screams_ , those damn glasses threatening to fall off completely from the force of Steve’s thrusts. The thought is so sudden and vivid that Steve almost comes right there, and maybe Tony knows it, with the way he gasps and goes tense for a moment.

“I’m so close, Tony,” he pants, keeping Tony’s head angled back with one hand and using his other to stroke himself, spit and precome making it easy, “you and your goddamn _mouth_ , fuck, sweetheart, where do you want it?”

Tony angles his head upwards, eyes lidded and sinful lips parted in invitation. “Come on me, Steve,” he rasps, sounding just as broken. He wraps his hand around Steve’s, urging him to stroke faster. “Come for me, Steve, I want your come on my face, want you marking me up, all yours—”

When Steve comes, it’s with Tony’s name and a world that whites out for a single, perfect moment.

He hears Tony moan, and that’s a sound that has him looking down blearily, just in time to see the last few spurts of his come shoot across Tony’s face, and Tony, oh _Tony_ , just closing his eyes and taking it.

The glasses are ruined.

“Fuck,” Steve says, not really realizing it’s his own voice. He eases his grip on Tony’s hair, feeling a stab of guilt when he becomes aware of how hard he was holding on.

“Mm.” Tony’s tongue peeks out to lick up the line of come that had landed on his bottom lip, and Steve watches, dazed and transfixed all at once. “That was hot,” Tony says, voice raw.

Steve feels a faint pang of guilt. “Shit. I didn’t— You didn’t even—Let me.” He runs his hand apologetically through Tony’s hair before sinking down to the floor with him, reaching for his sweatpants—only to find Tony’s hand already there and covered in his own come. 

“Sorry,” Tony says, curling forward to lean his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. There’s a smile in his voice. “Beat you there.”

“You— When—” Steve didn’t think it was possible to feel confused and oddly aroused at the same time, but Tony has a way of making him feel things he hasn’t felt before.

“Dunno.” Tony sounds just as dazed, nuzzling contently into the love bites he’s left on Steve’s collar. It’s messy and their clothes are going to need to be washed, but for the moment, Steve can’t find himself to care for anything else besides him and Tony and the blissful afterglow. “When you said you wanted to bend me over the desk and fuck me, I think. Which, by the way, is another one on the list.”

Oh. He’d said that out loud? “There’s a list?” he asks instead, winding his hand into Tony’s hair again and coaxing him to lean fully against him. Tony practically purrs, crowding his lap.

“Sure is,” Tony says happily. “The shower’s on it, if you feel like sneaking back to my place…?”

Steve thumbs a line of come away from his cheek. “You’re incorrigible,” he says, “and sticky.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“Fine, see if I let you come on my face next time,” Tony laughs, and Steve kisses him quiet.

Tony ends up taking the glasses off completely, its lenses hopelessly smeared, and he has to wrap the hoodie around his waist to hide the wet spot in his pants. Steve is a little better off, though he does spare his jacket to clean Tony’s face off.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Tony demurs. “I’m going to be blind as a bat, though.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here, Tony,” Steve says with a fond little roll of his eyes, “and I’ve got you.”

He helps Tony back up to his feet before gathering his books and refusing to let Tony, who already looks half asleep on his feet, carry any of them. It’s on their way out one of the back exits that Tony mumbles, “Yeah, you do,” and leans into his side, and Steve smiles into the night and kisses his hair in agreement.


End file.
